


Sunset on Stonework (Moonlight over Ice)

by PrioritiesSorted



Series: Erosion [3]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (for Katara/Zuko), Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Getting Together, Misunderstandings, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship, blink and you'll miss it Tokka, i guess!!!, technically you can't prove this wasn't happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrioritiesSorted/pseuds/PrioritiesSorted
Summary: “You’ve been avoiding me.”Lin stopped where she was, weighing her options. She could ignore Kya, and carry on walking, but that was a version of herself she had tried to leave behind. Lin turned.In the evening light, Kya looked like some kid of apparition: a water spirit. Her silver hair shone, and despite the crutch she still needed, there was something ethereal in the way she held herself—Lin had always thought Kya was more of an air nomad than her father realised—as if her feet were barely brushing the floor. She looked beautiful, and utterly unreachable.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Lin Beifong & Katara, Lin Beifong/Kya II
Series: Erosion [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937920
Comments: 28
Kudos: 217





	1. Sunset on Stonework (Moonlight over Ice)

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are! Part 3! All 11k of it, apparently. What is structure? Why is the first flashback the longest single section of this? Who knows. 
> 
> I've taken some... liberties with canon for this one. Look, Katara was at Jinora's Airbending-Master-Shindig I'll fight Bryke with my bare hands. 
> 
> Chapter 1 is the meat of the story, Chapter 2 is the Epilogue.

The breeze coming in from the ocean had an edge, but Lin didn’t mind. She’d been walking the cliffs of Air Temple Island for more hours than she cared to count, and the sun had dipped low to touch the horizon. The orange and pink of the sky was reflected in the water of Yue Bay, and the gentle ombre of the colours that painted the waves soothed her. It had been difficult to relax in wake of Zaheer’s attempt on Korra’s life, and Lin had to admit that she struggled to leave Air Temple Island. It would hardly be leaving the occupants unguarded if she were to go back to the city, but with so many of their best fighters still recovering—with Korra in the state she was in—Lin didn’t like to be away for too long. 

Taking a deep breath as she looked over the bay, Lin reminded herself that it had been weeks since the Red Lotus had been defeated; Zaheer was in prison, the other three were dead, and there hadn’t been a whisper of a threat since. Still, it wouldn’t do to be complacent, and this would not be her final sweep of the island before Jinora’s ceremony. 

“Tenzin said you’d be out here.” The voice made Lin jump—perhaps she _should_ get some rest, if people were able to sneak up on her—and she turned to see Katara settling onto the stone bench beneath the yuzu tree. Lin had seen Katara’s ship dock a few hours earlier, but had been too caught up in security checks to greet her. 

“I’m just making sure everything’s secure ahead of tomorrow,” Lin explained, and Katara smiled. 

“Yes, you’ve been working yourself to the bone, if Pema is to be believed.” Lin rolled her eyes; Pema had barely rested herself over the past weeks, too busy fussing over Tenzin and the rest of her family. A week ago on a late night patrol, Lin had noticed a light on in the main house; her investigation turned up only Pema and Asami, furtively boiling water for pain killing tea and warming dry rice for heat packs. Lin had wanted to chastise them, tell them they’d be no use to Tenzin or to Korra if they were dead on their feet, but she knew it would make her a hypocrite. If anything, Lin was envious of the two women, that they could care so openly for their loved ones (she couldn’t say exactly what manner of love Asami held for Korra, but she certainly had her suspicions). Lin by comparison had been watching Kya limp around the island for the last three weeks, itching to reach out and support her, to bring her tea and tend to her wounds—but Kya wouldn’t want that. Lin doubted Kya wanted anything to do with her, not after the last time they’d seen each other. 

“Pema’s hardly one to talk,” Lin griped, “I don’t think Tenzin’s even lifted a cup of tea to his own lips since we got back.” 

Katara laughed softly. 

“No, I don’t think he has.” The warmth in her voice was familiar, but there was something hollow about it that made Lin pause. When she looked back over her shoulder, Katara was staring out into the bay, the lines on her face deepening with her frown. 

“Are you alright, Katara?” Lin asked, tentatively. 

“Of course,” Katara replied, patting the space beside her on the bench. Lin sat down, stiff in her armour, and wishing she was better at this sort of thing; she could tell Katara was lying, but she’d never been one for gentle probing and offers of comfort. 

“I can tell you’re lying,” was what Lin eventually said, too blunt. “Your granddaughter is about to become an airbending master, forgive me for thinking you should be happier than you seem.” 

Katara took a deep breath, and Lin was horrified to see tears shimmering in her eyes; she didn’t reply immediately, continuing to stare out across the ocean. 

“You’re right,” Katara said eventually. “Tomorrow my granddaughter will become the youngest airbending master in almost two centuries, and I refused to allow the man I love to share it with me.” Katara looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. 

“Zuko wanted to come with you?” 

Katara nodded, her fingers beginning to twitch against each other—it was a habit Lin recognised, but hadn’t seen Katara do in many years. She remembered taking Katara’s hand as a child, feeling the rough, hot patches on her palm where Katara had rubbed her own skin raw. 

“I told him he could attend if he wanted to,” Katara said, her voice small, “as the former Fire Lord.”

“But not as your date.” 

“No,” Katara admitted. Her hands continued to work in her lap, the movements harsher with every passing second, and Lin covered Katara’s hands with her own, squeezing gently. The movements stilled, but Katara still stared down in front of her. 

“It’s been more than ten years, Katara,” Lin said. “What are you so afraid of?” 

Katara glanced behind her, at the shadow of the main house growing long in the evening light. She took a trembling breath. 

“My children. I don’t want to lie to them, but I can’t tell them the whole truth. If Zuko and I were to be together publicly, they’d have questions—questions I couldn’t answer honestly without hurting them. They’d despise me.” 

That was difficult to dispute. Bumi might not mind, she thought; as much as he loved his parents he had never idolised them, and while Lin knew him the least of Katara’s children, he had always been open and easygoing. She couldn’t imagine him begrudging his mother the happiness she deserved in her old age. Tenzin, on the other hand—Lin sighed—Tenzin would be an issue. 

“Kya knows, and she doesn’t hate you,” Lin said softly. It was the only comfort she could honestly give, and Katara smiled.

“I gather I have you to thank for that.” 

* * *

_Lin was on her second drink of the evening when her heart skipped a beat. She had always privately thought that Kya only got more beautiful as she aged, and she had yet to be proven wrong. The lighting in the bar was dim, but enough that Lin could make out the streaks of silver in Kya’s hair; they hadn’t been there the last time Lin had seen her—it must have been five years at least, and it felt like a lifetime—but the effect was so striking that Lin couldn’t look away. Kya still moved with that fluidity Lin remembered from their youth, though her steps were perhaps a little heavier, weighed down with care and fatigue._

_Lin stared back down at her drink, half-hoping Kya wouldn’t see her. Distance made everything easier. She’d managed to distract herself from memories of Kya—of her curves, of her smile, of her smell—pretty successfully in the last few years; to be close to her again now would only make that more difficult. She’d known Kya was in the city—the imminent birth of another potential airbender meant that Tenzin’s whole family would be sailing in—but Lin had never imagined she’d see her in some hole in the wall bar downtown._

_Lin held her breath, waiting. She could feel every distinctive tap of Kya’s feet on the stone floor, coming closer, closer. Lin’s heart was in her mouth by the time Kya slid into the booth beside her, a fresh drink in her hand._

_“It’s a girl,” was all Kya said, raising her glass in a toast. There was something slightly wry in her voice, and Lin raised her own glass in response._

_“Ah, but is it an airbender?” she said, and Kya nodded sagely._

_“The only question that matters,” she agreed, clinking her glass against Lin’s. They each took a long drink, and Lin couldn’t repress a smile as she lowered her glass._

_“I’ve missed you,” Kya said quietly. Lin nodded, unable to voice the sentiment herself, but certain that Kya would understand. “I should’ve come to see you, when I was here for Jinora.” Kya continued, but Lin waved the apology away. “I almost didn’t come at all, y’know, though I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse...”_

_“I know, your Mom told me.”_

_Kya stiffened._

_“She did?”_

_“She came to see me that evening. I wasn’t in the best shape.” Lin admitted, and Kya seemed to relax._

_“Oh, so that’s where she went. I thought she’d snuck off to call—” Kya cut herself off, wincing, and weakly finished, “—Bumi.”_

_“Smooth, Kya.”_

_Kya laughed, but it didn’t reach her eyes; it was an odd expression on someone who rarely felt the need to mask her emotions. Lin didn’t want to press her—it had been so long since they’d last spoken, she didn’t have the right—but Kya’s uncharacteristic awkwardness made her uneasy. Kya took a long drink, then another. She looked furtively around the bar. There were very few patrons within earshot, and those who were seemed entirely occupied with their own drinks. “Would you mind if I told you something?” Kya blurted suddenly. “It’s—difficult for me to get my head around, and I’ve been wanting to talk to someone about it, someone who knows my family, but it’s… complicated. I know we haven’t—but I trust you, Lin. I trust you to listen and say something sensible and not tell anyone else about it.”_

_Something unexpected bloomed in Lin’s chest, paired with a spike of anxiety as Kya put her hand over Lin’s on the table. Her instinct told her to snatch it away, to protect herself, but Katara’s words echoed in her head even as her muscles tightened:_ perhaps it will make you vulnerable, perhaps it will hurt you, but in the end it’s worth it. _She took a breath, relaxing her arm before Kya could sense her tension, and flipped her hand so she could hold Kya’s gently._

_“Of course you can tell me,” she said. Kya looked taken aback, and Lin thought she saw the brown of Kya’s cheek darken a little as she looked down at their clasped hands._

_“I think my Mom has a boyfriend.” Kya said in a rush, and Lin felt her eyebrows rise in shock. The information in and of itself was hardly surprising to her; Katara might have been cagey about the subject the last time they’d spoken, but Lin was a detective: she could read between the lines. What surprised her was that Kya knew._

_“Oh?” she prompted, unsure of what else to say. Kya suspecting that her mother was seeing someone was one thing, Kya knowing that—_

_“It’s Uncle Zuko,” Kya continued, barely above a whisper. She looked around the bar again, and Lin couldn’t blame her. If the information got out without official sanction from the Fire Nation and the Southern Water Tribe, if rumours began before an official statement could be made, then they’d be in for a world of trouble._

_“You don’t look shocked,” Kya said, frowning, and Lin sighed. While she’d always been good at masking her emotions, she’d never been adept at feigning excitement or surprise._

_“This isn’t entirely news to me,” Lin admitted, and she couldn’t stop a tiny pang of hurt as Kya snatched her hand back._

_“You knew?”_

_“Not exactly. Katara mentioned something about it just before she left Republic City for the South Pole.” Lin knew she had to tread carefully around this. ‘My mom has a new boyfriend in her old age’, was a far cry from ‘my mom has always harboured a secret passion for our family friend, and her Fated Romance with my father wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be’. Lin still didn’t know how much Kya had figured out, so it was better to let her talk._

_“Makes sense,” Kya replied, thoughtfully. “Zuko showed up out of nowhere about three weeks after Mom arrived. She’d been all distracted and weird since she got there, worked herself to the bone with Korra and at the healing huts—it’s a thing she does when she’s trying not to think about something, but I just assumed it was the news about Tenzin—” Kya cut herself off, glancing awkwardly at Lin, who waved her hand at Kya to continue. She couldn’t deny that the old wound still smarted occasionally, but she was long past flinching at any mention of it. “Then Zuko showed up and—I don’t know—there was something off about him, but he said it was about politics, and so I didn’t question it. But the next morning she told me she was going back to the Fire Nation with him.”_

_Lin had to hold back a smile at that. She didn’t know what had transpired in Caldera, but Katara had clearly taken her own advice: she’d reached for her happiness and caught it. She deserved a holiday, Lin thought, after so many years of duty, of putting others’ needs before her own._

_“And when she came back,” Kya continued, becoming more agitated by the minute, “she was so happy, that stupid newly-in-love happy and she got all secretive about her letters and—I don’t know. I want her to be happy, of course I do but…” Kya paused and—to Lin’s horror—her chin began to wobble. “I can’t help thinking how fast it is. I know it’s been five years since Dad died, but they were together for over fifty. And the fact that it’s Zuko? I can’t help thinking, wondering if—were they together even before he died? You don’t just wake up one morning when you’re seventy and think gee! guess I’m in love with my oldest friend!” Kya took a shuddering breath before she seemed to remember where she was, and who she was talking to. “I’m sorry, Lin, I didn’t mean to get—I guess this was all just weighing on me more heavily than I thought.” She gave a weak laugh as she brushed away the single tear that was rolling down her cheek. Lin surprised herself by catching Kya’s hand in mid-air and encasing it between her own. Kya looked surprised, but her breathing began to even out as Lin stroked careful fingers across soft skin._

_“They weren’t together, before,” Lin said. She couldn’t help feeling as though she was betraying Katara’s confidence, but it would be unfair to both Katara and Kya if she let Kya keep thinking her mother had been unfaithful. Lin sent a silent prayer to whatever entities might be listening that she would find a path through this situation without stepping on any landmines._

_Kya looked up at her, eyes still wet, and simply said,_

_“What?”_

_“When Katara and I spoke she—she told me about what was between them.” Lin confessed, dropping her gaze to their clasped hands resting on the table._

_“Why?” Kya asked, and Lin felt her chest seize. She grappled for a way to explain it without giving herself away, without turning this into a conversation she was nowhere near ready for._

_“You should talk to her about it, not me,” she finally said, and her desperation must have turned into that familiar harshness, because Kya flinched, and started to pull her hand away again; Lin chased her instinctually, unwilling to lose Kya’s warmth, her touch. “I’m sorry,” she said, as softly as she could manage, “I’m working on—I just meant that this would all sound better coming from your mom, wouldn’t it? I’m sure she’d talk to you about it if you asked.”_

_“I know,” Kya said weakly, her shoulders slumped. “It’s just that I—I don’t know if I can. I’ve always ragged on Tenzin for his hero-worship of Dad, I guess I never realised that I’m the same way about Mom. I want to know what’s going on but I think… I think I’d hate to hear her say it.”_

_Lin wished she didn’t understand. She still remembered being nineteen, and walking into the kitchen to find Su showing off her latest meteor trick to Uncle Sokka; he had watched her with an utterly rapt expression, and something had clicked into place. She’d never asked her mother about it, because as convinced as she had become over the years, Lin preferred the vagueness of a theory over the concrete knowledge of who had fathered her little sister. This was different, though; Katara wasn’t Toph, and her list of maternal transgressions was far shorter._

_“Kya, none of this should make you think any less of your mom. She made a choice when she was way too young to have had to make it, but she never had any regrets. She was happy with your Dad…” Lin paused, trying to think of the right words. “Perhaps she has had feelings for Zuko for longer than they’ve been together, but it’s not like she was standing on the cliffs of Air Temple Island, dreaming of the Fire Nation. She chose your dad for a lot of reasons, but one was that she knew they wanted the same things—they were a great team, weren’t they?” Kya nodded, the very edges of a smile beginning to tug at her lips. “You can love two people equally and in different ways. What matters is being certain which will make you happy. She was happy with your dad for so many years, and she’s happy with Zuko now.”_

_Kya smiled, properly this time, and squeezed Lin’s hand._

_“When did you get so wise?”_

_Lin shrugged,_

_“Just telling you what she told me.”_

_“Why?”_

_“You asked me to?”_

_Kya rolled her eyes._

_“No, you never told me why Mom talked to you about this.”_

_Lin had hoped she’d dodged that particular fireball, but apparently not. She ought to lie, make something up about Katara being nervous and blurting her secrets to Lin on impulse, but Kya knew her mother too well for that. Lin had already spilled Katara’s secrets that evening, it was only fair to spill her own alongside them._

_“Tenzin and I had a fight. About kids,” she explained, wincing at the memory. “Your mom came to find me, and I thought she would chew me out, remind me of my duty, but instead she told me this story…” Lin still remembered the sharpness of her surprise at Katara’s revelation; she’d been half convinced it was all a dream until Katara had showed up again in her apartment the night Jinora had been born. “She told me she knew exactly how I felt, that she had always known, and she blamed herself for not telling me sooner. I think she was trying to tell me that it was one thing to choose stability over passion when you want the same things, but even if Tenzin felt like the safer choice at the time… he never was, because I was never going to want kids, and he was always going to need them. I was only ever fooling myself that I could be what he wanted me to be.” Lin could feel Kya’s eyes on her, and she knew she could leave it there, could back away from the conversation and from Kya. For all Lin knew, Kya might not ever have considered their kiss as anything beyond a brief lapse in judgment; for all Lin knew, she had been tearing herself apart over something entirely unrequited. The thought was oddly comforting, and so she allowed herself to finish: “I was only ever fooling myself that I’d chosen the person I could find the most happiness with.”_

_It was barely a confession, but it hung heavy in the air between them nonetheless. Lin took a sip of her drink, hoping that her cheeks were not as flushed as they felt. She didn’t dare look at Kya, only stared forward at where their hands were still joined on the table. Kya hadn’t pulled away, but Lin still felt as though her touch must be an imposition. She jumped slightly when Kya squeezed her fingers, and looked up. Kya was smiling gently at her, and Lin felt the tension melt from her muscles._

_“You look like you could use another one of those,” Kya said, nodding to Lin’s empty glass. She scooped it off the table before Lin could reply, slipping from the booth as Lin stared after her, utterly perplexed._

_She watched Kya lean against the bar, brushing that incredible silver-brown hair behind her ear as she did so. Kya smiled as she ordered, and though Lin couldn’t make out what she was saying, she could see that the barmaid was pretty. Kya laughed at something the barmaid said as she prepared the drinks, and received the fresh glasses with another smile and a wink. It was not a subtle message: Kya had understood Lin’s confession, and she was trying to make it clear that she was no longer interested—if she ever had been—in the gentlest way possible. It was never going to be painless, but Lin was nevertheless thankful that Kya was not forcing her to talk about it, choosing simply to flirt with a pretty barmaid where she knew Lin could see, rather than drag them both through a messy conversation about Lin’s feelings. It was so neat, so Kya. The air had been cleared, and Lin had missed her chance; Kya wanted nothing but friendship from her. That Kya still wanted to spend time with Lin at all was a small miracle, and Lin smiled through the ache in her chest as Kya set their drinks down._

_“So how’s life in the South Pole?” Lin asked, taking a sip of her drink. The ice bumped against her teeth, but she was grateful for the burn of alcohol through her system. “Your mom said the new Avatar’s a handful.”_

_Kya looked taken aback for a moment, as though she hadn’t expected the question, but she recovered quickly enough that Lin almost thought she’d imagined it._

_“She certainly is,” Kya said. Her eyes crinkled in a smile, and Lin could spend hours tracing the lines that were just beginning to appear on her face. “I thought I’d be bored staying in one place for so long, but she certainly keeps things interesting.”_

_Within a few minutes, Kya had her laughing along with some of little Korra’s more daring exploits. It was obvious that Kya was as fond of the girl as her mother was, though Lin couldn’t help thinking she sounded more of a nuisance than anything else. She’d forgotten how easy it was to talk to Kya, how Kya effortlessly filled the gaps left by Lin’s awkwardness, making her feel like she might not be such an awful person to have a drink with. Between stories of Kya’s adventures, and Lin’s account of her promotion (including a fair number of complaints about how the force had been run under the previous Chief, which seemed to amuse Kya to no end) it seemed like barely any time had passed when the bell was rung for last orders. Too soon, Lin and Kya found themselves standing on the sidewalk, bathed in the yellow light of the streetlamps. They lingered for a moment, Lin shivering slightly in the crisp night air, before Kya finally broke the silence._

_“It was good to see you,” she said, with that terrible earnestness she shared with her mother._

_“Yeah, you too,” Lin muttered, and Kya rolled her eyes before enveloping Lin in a hug. Lin barely had time to take it all in—the softness of Kya’s hair against her cheek, the feeling of Kya’s body pressed against her own—before Kya pulled back. Lin wanted to chase her, to hold her just a little longer, but the time for that had passed, and Lin would respect Kya’s distance._

_“Don’t be a stranger, Chief,” she said, giving Lin an ironic little salute as she walked away. Lin raised her middle finger in response, and the sound of Kya’s laughter echoed through the night as she disappeared around the street corner, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of salt and citrus._

* * *

Lin shook her head. 

“Kya would never have hated you. I think she just needed to talk it through—I only told her what you told me. Less than that, probably.” 

“Nevertheless, I should have thanked you before,” Katara said. “Has it really been so long since we last spoke?” 

“Like this? It was the night Jinora was born.” There had been the South Pole, of course, but they’d both had bigger things to worry about then. Lin pushed the memories away. “How did a decade pass so quickly?” 

Katara laughed softly. 

“Just wait until you’re my age. That seems like only yesterday to me.” She swept her piercing blue gaze across Lin’s face; though the lines of her face had deepened, her eyes were as bright and alert as ever. “Still, it’s been too long. I should have checked in with you before now.” 

“It sounds as though you’ve had your own worries to contend with,” Lin said. She had intended the words to be comforting—Katara shouldn’t have to deal with Lin’s struggles on top of her own—but the corners of Katara’s mouth tugged down again, and her hands resumed their frantic movements. 

“I’m so afraid, Lin.” Katara said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We waited so long, we waited a lifetime, and for what? To hide from the world and hurt each other? To fall into the same traps we made ourselves miserable to avoid when we were young?” 

Katara’s voice trembled, and Lin wanted so badly to embrace her, to lay Katara’s head against her shoulder and offer the comfort that Katara had offered her so many times before, but Lin was still in her uniform, too many hard edges and sharp points. Instead, she laid a gentle hand on Katara’s white hair and said, 

“Katara I—I’m hardly someone that people come to with personal problems, but I’ve received some pretty good advice over the years, if you’d like to hear it?” 

Katara looked up at her, tears sparkling in her eyes, and for a second Lin was not looking at the Katara she knew—wise and wrinkled—but the girl she must once have been, who had been forced to decide her future far too young. The thought of it had haunted Lin for so many years; she was fifty now, and still only just beginning to unravel her true desires from the ones duty had dictated for her. To do it all at fourteen was unimaginable, and it was to that frightened, conflicted, impossibly brave young woman that Lin spoke. 

“Someone very wise once told me that if you want happiness, you have to reach out for it,” Lin said, and Katara huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. “She said that reaching out might make you vulnerable, it might hurt, but in the end it’s worth it. I’ve tried my best to take that advice over the past years, and I’ve found it to be true.” It had certainly hurt, but Lin supposed the hurt had been useful in its own way, and the wounds would heal in time. “The thing is, though,” she continued, “reaching out isn’t just one action. It’s not one moment of stupid bravery, it’s a hundred smaller moments afterwards, too. Perhaps the hardest thing—the hardest thing is when someone reaches out to you. To take that hand, to accept the love they’re offering... it’s difficult. I’m still working on it.” 

* * *

_“It’s a boy!”_

_Kya was leaning nonchalantly against Lin’s door frame as though it hadn’t been two years since they last spoke, as if she hadn’t heard Lin’s pained confession only to rebuff her moments later. She was holding a half empty bottle of sake in a toast, and she wobbled slightly as she stood up straight._

_“You’re drunk.”_

_“I’m celebrating!”_

_Kya had clearly been celebrating for a few hours before she decided to turn up at Lin’s door. Her increasingly silver hair was slightly disheveled, as if someone had run their fingers through it. Lin felt an unpleasant stab of jealousy, as hard as she tried to quash it; she had no right to be jealous, Kya wasn’t hers._

_“I can see that,” was all she said, and Kya grinned._

_“I was at the Fan and Fireball. You ever been there, Chief?” There was a teasing twinkle in Kya’s eye, and Lin took great pleasure in saying,_

_“Yes.”_

_Kya’s eyebrow twitched upward in surprise._

_“I’m gonna want to hear about that,” she said. “Are you going to invite me in, or will I be spending the rest of the evening hanging out in this hallway?”_

_Lin knew she should make her excuses and send Kya away; she knew that letting Kya into her apartment would only end badly—Kya had always been an affectionate drunk, draping herself across the lap of whoever happened to be near her—but she stepped back anyway, allowing Kya to enter._

_“You know I’m much less fun than whoever you’ve been spending the night with so far, right?” Lin said as she closed the door behind Kya._

_“Shut up, Lin,” was all Kya said in return. From anyone else, in any other circumstance, Lin would have bristled at that, but she could only smile._

_“It’s good to see you, too.”_

_Kya’s expression was soft as she dropped onto Lin’s sofa,_

_“Get over here and have a drink with me,” she ordered. “This is the best sake they had at the bar, and I do not intend to remember how much it cost tomorrow.”_

_Lin let out a put-upon sigh, but she collected a pair of glasses from her cabinet without protest, setting them on the table as she sat down beside Kya. She poured herself a measure and took a deep drink. Kya was right, it was good, but she couldn’t be in a savouring mood if she was going to get through the evening. She refilled her own glass before pouring Kya a (significantly smaller) measure. Kya accepted the drink with a pout, but didn’t complain._

_“I wanted to say thanks. You know, for last time.” Kya said, suddenly shy. “I talked to Mom.”_

_So that was the reason she had come. Lin nodded in acknowledgement, but didn’t trust herself to reply immediately. She took another drink. ’_

_“That’s good,” she said eventually. “How’d it go?”_

_“Well, I think. She was sorry for hiding it from me, but not for loving him,” Kya told her. “It was actually kinda sweet. I’m glad she’s happy.” Kya settled back into the cushions, looking content. Lin knew she was staring, but she wanted to imprint the image in her memory, of Kya so at ease in her home. The longer Lin looked at her, the more she saw how tired Kya looked; the buzz had gone around the city only that morning—Tenzin’s wife is in labour, another airbender on the way!—so Kya must have gone straight from the delivery room to the bar. She wanted to ask why, but it was hardly her business. The silence stretched out between them, but Lin could think of nothing to say besides_ stay. 

_“So the Fan and Fireball, huh?” Kya said, and Lin groaned. “You do know what kind of bar that is?”_

_“I’m not an idiot, Kya. I go there for a reason.”_

_“And what reason is that?” Kya asked, her face the picture of innocence. Lin knocked back another measure before she answered._

_“I get lonely, sometimes.”_

_It was an honest enough answer, if not the whole truth. Some nights Lin would toss and turn in bed, unable to sleep for thinking of ocean blue eyes, and silver hair catching the moonlight. On those nights, when she knew she’d get no rest in any case, Lin would wander out to the only bar in Republic City that catered to women like her. She’d garnered a few surprised looks on her first visit—her relationship and subsequent break-up with Tenzin had been widely publicised, after all—but she soon learned that the bar’s patrons were hardly averse to her presence. It was all too easy for Lin to find women willing to take her home, and take her to bed—Fire Nation women with black hair and warm eyes, or earthbenders with solid builds to match her own._

_Kya lips curled up in amusement, but the laughter had left her eyes._

_“None of the Republic City ladies managed to tie you down?”_

_“No.”_

_“No-one interesting enough to stick around for?” Kya asked. “Or are you just distracting yourself while you wait for another nice, sensible man?” There was a bitterness to her voice that caught Lin off guard, and despite the flash of anger she felt, Lin could only say,_

_“Kya.” Her voice wobbled as she spoke, and she took another drink. When Lin dared to glance back up, Kya had the decency to look embarrassed._

_“Sorry.” The apology dropped so easily, so earnestly from Kya’s lips, that Lin couldn’t help but forgive her. “Guess I just find it hard to believe so many women would let you slip through their fingers.”_

_If she were at the Fan and Fireball now, if Kya were any other woman, Lin would assume she was being flirted with. Kya was looking up at her through dark lashes, and Lin forced herself to remember their last encounter: Kya didn’t want her, it was merely in her nature to tease and to flirt. Lin knew that._

_“It wasn’t_ that _many.” she protested. She could feel her cheeks flush, helped along by the wine; she almost wanted another drink, but they were already in dangerous territory, and Lin didn’t feel like embarrassing herself tonight._

_“And none of them good enough,” Kya teased. She leaned forward to rest her chin on her hand, looking up at Lin with a knowing smile._

_“It wasn’t like that,” Lin said as her blush deepened. “They just weren’t… right.”_

_“Why?”_

_Lin shrugged,_

_“You know me.”_

_“No, I don’t think I do.” Kya said pensively. Her forehead was adorably creased, but she looked so suddenly sad that Lin felt her heart crack. “I thought… I thought I knew what you wanted, but I was wrong. I thought maybe… I thought maybe you were talking about me, but you weren’t.”_

_“Talking about you when?” Lin asked, though she already knew the answer._

_“Ikki’s birthday, that night. I thought perhaps you were trying to tell me… but it was stupid.” Kya shook her head, silvery hair falling in her face. She dropped her gaze from Lin’s, and Lin reached out to cup Kya’s face beneath her chin—she must have been tipsier than she realised, and she missed the blue of Kya’s eyes too acutely to stop herself. Kya was smiling weakly when she looked up at Lin again, raising her hand to trail her fingers, whisper soft, across the arch of Lin’s brows. Lin held her breath as those cool fingers traced the slant of her nose, then the lines of her cheekbones, finally coming to rest against the curve of her lip._

_“So stupid for you,” Kya breathed. The world stood still for a moment—if Lin only tilted her head forward, she could catch Kya’s lips with her own, and she was certain she would be welcomed. Her body tensed in anticipation, but Lin did not move; Kya was drunk, she wasn’t thinking clearly. Even if she_ did _want Lin in some way, it wasn’t the way that Lin wanted her. Drunk Kya might want someone to share a bed with tonight—now she knew how much experience Lin had in that area—but Lin couldn’t say how sober Kya would feel about it in the morning. Lin wouldn’t take advantage of her that way._

_Lin shifted, pulling slightly away. Kya frowned, letting out a petulant little sigh before her eyelids fluttered, then drooped, and finally closed, dark eyelashes fanning across her cheek. Her head tilted forward onto Lin’s shoulder, and Lin clumsily slipped out from beneath her, guiding Kya’s head down onto a cushion. She picked up Kya’s feet and lifted them onto the sofa so Kya was lying properly; Lin herself was starting to feel the effects of sleeping in places other than her bed—the last time she’d fallen asleep at her desk, her neck had ached for three days afterwards—but perhaps Kya’s nomad spirit made her hardier. Lin fetched the extra blanket from the chest in her bedroom, and laid it over Kya’s sleeping form, tucking the soft material around her. Kya hummed contentedly, shifting in her sleep, and Lin repressed the urge to drop a kiss on her forehead. She stayed for a minute or two, watching the rise and fall of Kya’s chest, before she retreated to her own room._

_Lin lay on her back in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about Kya. They could talk about it in the morning, Lin told herself. In the morning, without the haze of drink, with the sun shining, they could be honest with each other, they could be direct. With the sound of Kya’s breathing drifting in from the living room, Lin’s eyelids drooped, and she felt comforted by the thought that—if nothing else—things would be clear in the morning._

_When she woke, Kya was gone._

* * *

“I think—” Lin ventured, choosing her words carefully, “—I can’t tell you how you feel, Katara, but it sounds like you’re punishing yourself for daring to want, and daring to go after something that will make you happy even though it might hurt other people. You take that first plunge, but the guilt from it eats and eats at you until you—you start sabotaging your own happiness because you think you ought not to have it.” 

Katara frowned, and Lin let the silence stretch out between them. Despite the calm of the evening, Lin felt oddly on edge, hoping that she hadn’t overstepped. She knew she ought to feel safe around Katara, who had proven time and time again that Lin’s abrasiveness was hardly a barrier to her love, but the longer that silence went on, the more nervous Lin became. Eventually, Katara looked up at her, raising a hand to Lin’s cheek. 

“When did you get so wise?” 

Lin let out a long breath. 

“Been spending too much time with you, I guess,” she said, relieved. 

“I think if I were really wise, I might take my own advice,” Katara replied with a wry smile. Lin shook her head. 

“Please, Katara. No-one takes their own advice,” she said, and Katara’s hand flew up to muffle her laughter. Lin smiled, and a comfortable silence fell. Lin looked out towards the bay, watching the final blood red sliver of the sun sinking into the sea. The sound of the waves calmed her, and she thought again about how they lapped against the rock, softening it to sand. 

“Do you love him?” she asked, in barely more than a whisper. 

“Yes,” Katara replied, her voice low but certain. 

“Are you happy with him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then that’s reason enough. You’ve given your whole life to other people, Katara. You deserve something that’s yours. Tenzin can deal with it.” Lin knew her tone brooked no arguments—it was one she usually saved for her officers, Korra, and Meelo—but Katara still looked uncertain. “He’s a big boy,” Lin continued, squeezing Katara’s hand, “and however he might react at first, he’ll come around. He wants you to be happy.” 

Katara only looked at her for a long moment, her eyes seeming to search Lin’s for any hint of uncertainty, but Lin would not give it. She might not be comfortable with this kind of situation, but she knew when she was right. Eventually, Katara nodded. 

“You’re right, Lin. I’ve been a coward for too long.” 

“You’ve never been a coward, Katara,” Lin said, and Katara shrugged. 

“Whatever you want to call it—cowardice, self-sacrifice—I’m too old for it. Perhaps not tonight, or tomorrow, but soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very long and apologetic letter to write to my lover.” Katara chuckled as she stood up. “ _Lover!_ Listen to me, Lin. I sound like one of those awful romances.” 

Lin decided not to mention the extensive collection of such romances gathering dust under Katara’s bed. She and Kya had discovered the stash one afternoon when they’d had nothing better to do—Kya had wanted to show Lin her mother’s ancient waterbending scroll, but instead they had found piles upon piles of cheap romances. At twelve and sixteen, they’d found the contents immeasurably funny, and they’d lost track of time as they rifled through, having to stuff the collection back under the bed and race to Kya’s room when they heard Aang’s soft footsteps outside. 

“There you are, Mom, I’ve been looking for you.” As if the very thought had summoned her, Kya stepped out from the shadow of the trees. She was leaning heavily on her crutch, and frowning at Katara. “You said you were going to step out for a stroll and you didn’t come back.” 

Lin very carefully averted her gaze, turning her back on Kya to stare out at the sea. 

“And what? You thought I tripped on a rock and broke my hip?” Katara asked, pointedly. 

“Mom—” 

“I know I’m old, Kya, but I’m not helpless. Dear me. I was about to return to the house anyway.” 

“Good, I’ll walk back with you.” 

Katara tutted. 

“Nonsense. It’s a beautiful evening and I don’t need a chaperone. I did live here for the majority of my life, you know. Stay, watch the sunset, relax. Someone needs to look after Lin, make sure she’s not working too hard.” 

Katara patted Lin’s shoulder, and Lin briefly considered exactly how much of an uproar there would be if a treasured war hero was to be murdered by the Chief of Police. Katara winked at Lin as she tugged her shawl a little tighter around herself and walked purposefully back towards the house. 

“Goodnight, girls,” she called as she went. “Don’t stay up too late, now.” 

The sound of Katara’s retreating footsteps and the lapping of the sea against the cliffs was the only sound in the growing evening. Lin could sense Kya’s presence behind her—heartbeat a little elevated—but neither spoke. Withe fresh breeze blowing in off the ocean, the atmosphere should not have felt oppressive, yet Lin felt suddenly stifled. She stood abruptly. 

“I should finish my final sweep of the island.” She had barely taken two steps before Kya called after her: 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” 

Lin stopped where she was, weighing her options. She could ignore it, and carry on walking, but that was a version of herself she had tried to leave behind. Lin turned. 

In the evening light, Kya looked like some kid of apparition: a water spirit. Her silver hair shone, and despite the crutch she still needed, there was something ethereal in the way she held herself—Lin had always thought Kya was more of an air nomad than her father realised—as if her feet were barely brushing the floor. She looked beautiful, and utterly unreachable. 

“I know I made a fool of myself the last time we saw each other,” Lin said, refusing to meet Kya’s gaze. “At the South Pole. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to feel...” she trailed off, unable to put words to the acute embarrassment she still carried. 

“Lin, I—” Kya began, but Lin cut her off. 

“It’s alright, Kya. You don’t need to explain.” 

* * *

_The South Pole was freezing. It seemed stupid to be so aware of it—of course the South Pole would be freezing—but Lin hadn’t quite anticipated the way the cold would seep into her bones and make her blood feel sluggish. Then again, she had difficulty telling the difference between the cold and the loss of her bending; the tips of her fingers and toes were numb, but perhaps that was simply a side effect of no longer being able to feel the thrum and the warmth of the earth around her. Perhaps parts of her would always feel numb from now on._

_She ought not to dwell on it—her bending was gone, and if Katara’s unsuccessful efforts to heal Korra were anything to go by, it would not be returning. Lin had experienced plenty of loss in her life, she knew how to push away her grief, how to continue on. Yet her methods had always been so tied to her work; every time her personal life fell to pieces, every time someone she loved left her, it was her work that Lin lost herself in. Every time her failings as a daughter, as a sister, as a lover, as a woman were made plain to her—and they had been made plain plenty of times over the years—she could at least comfort herself that she was a good Chief. Without that, without her bending, she truly was nothing._

_Lin started as the door to her room opened—she was startled by so much, now, unable to hear vibrations of footsteps on the earth—and Kya entered, a steaming bowl in her hands a towel slung over her arm._

_“I thought you might want to wash up,” she said, setting the bowl down on the table before the mirror._

_“Thanks,” Lin said, quietly. She tried to smile, but found—to her horror—that the action brought tears to her eyes. Lin looked away—not fast enough. Kya seemed to hesitate for a moment before she crossed to the bed, sitting tentatively beside Lin. A soft hand came to rest on Lin’s shoulder, and she fought the urge to curl up against Kya, to take deep breaths of her familiar scent in a world that felt so alien now. Instead, she let her head fall into her hands as Kya traced patterns on her back with gentle fingers._

_“I’m so sorry, Lin,” Kya said. “I know that means very little now, but it’s true. If it was in my power to—”_

_“It’s not. Even Katara can’t do anything about it.” She had tried, on Korra at least. Katara had offered to make the attempt for Lin as well, but by the time she had finished working on Korra, long hours passing without any sign of success, Lin could see the weariness etched into her features. It would have been cruel to ask her to keep working at something Lin knew would be fruitless, even if a small and very selfish part of her wanted Katara to try, to see if—perhaps, just perhaps—Lin was different._

_“I know,” Kya said, her hand drifting up to caress the short hairs at the nape of Lin’s neck. Lin shivered, then shook, emotion wracking through her body. No more tears fell—Lin was done with tears, her eyes dry and crusted with salt—but her breaths came hard and fast like sobs. She was vaguely aware of Kya speaking to her in soft tones, of something tugging at the laces and layers of her clothing, until she felt a warm hand on her chest, a sheen of water glowing between the palm and her now-exposed skin. It was a strange pressure, but comforting, and Lin felt her breathing even out while Kya murmured soothing platitudes. When she finally looked up, Kya was kneeling on the floor before her, one hand resting on Lin’s knee, the other still pressed against her sternum. The gesture seemed to unlock something in her._

_“I don’t know what I’m_ for _anymore, Kya,” Lin admitted, voice small and trembling. “What use is there for me? If I were younger, perhaps I could learn the sword, like Sokka. I could go to Kyoshi Island—”_

_“You could still do any of those things.” Kya cut her off, dropping her water to the floor so she could take Lin’s face in her hands. “Lin you’re—you’re an incredible warrior, and not just because of your bending. But you don’t have to be everyone’s protector to be worth something, you know that, right? You’re worthy just for yourself.”_

_Lin scoffed,_

_“Sounds like some hippy bullshit to me.”_

_Kya looked at her for a second, her eyes huge and sparkling, before a laugh burst reluctantly from her lips._

_“I’ll make you believe me one day,” she promised, brushing her thumb along Lin’s cheekbone._

_Something like gravity pulled Lin from the bed, seeking the warmth of Kya’s body. She slid slowly down until she was sitting in Kya’s lap, her legs bracketing Kya’s body, and her forehead coming to rest against Kya’s. She was reminded suddenly, sharply, of the last time they had sat like this: Kya’s hands grasping her waist, her thigh, mouth opening soft beneath Lin’s own. It was so long ago, yet the memory was clear as glass, and Lin wondered if Kya was remembering, too. They’d been dancing around this for a decade, one step forward and two steps back, and Lin was so tired. If everything else had been taken from her, she would not let Kya slip through her fingers._

_“Stay,” she whispered, her lips inches from Kya’s. “Stay with me, please.”_

_Lin felt Kya tremble beneath her, breath hot against Lin’s lips. For several long seconds, Lin was floating through endless blue, the water enveloping them, entirely alone but for each other—then Kya pulled away._

_She scrambled to her feet, brushing invisible dust from her clothing as she did so, and Lin crashed back to shore, the earth cold and unfeeling. She stared up at Kya, who would not meet her eyes, and Lin couldn’t say she was cold anymore; now her whole body was flushed with shame, with embarrassment that she could have misread Kya’s feelings so badly._

_“I have to—I’m sorry I have to help—I have to go back to the main compound.”_

_She slipped through the door so quickly she might never have been there at all; only the still-warm bowl of water, gently steaming, remained as proof of her presence._

_The world went quiet again._

* * *

“I do, Lin,” Kya insisted. “I need to explain and I need… I need to apologise. I should never have left you when you needed me. I thought that I would be—I don’t know—taking advantage if I stayed. I didn’t—I didn’t know if I was who you really wanted. I didn’t want to be a stand in.” 

“A stand in?” Lin repeated, confused. Kya’s answer was so far from what she expected that she was caught off guard. 

“I feel so stupid now but—I’d found Pema in a corner of the healing hut that morning,” Kya explained. “She was feeding Rohan and just… crying. We’ve never been that close but she looked pretty pathetic all curled up by herself with the baby. It was hard not to feel sorry for her, so I made her a cup of tea and sat with her, just letting her get it out. Once she’d recovered a little, she—she looked up at me and said, _did you know?_ ” Lin frowned, and Kya broke her gaze, fiddling with the soft wrappings on her crutch. “I told her I had no idea what she meant, and she said, _did you know he still loves her?_ Honestly it took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about but when I did… I couldn’t think, I didn’t know what to say. Though apparently I didn’t need to, because it just came pouring out of her, all this stuff about how the two of you had been working so much together this year, how she’d caught you standing so close to each other, only to spring apart when she arrived. The way she described you jumping off the back of Oogi, how he looked back after you… I could see why she was worried.” 

Lin scoffed, though she had to admit that perhaps Pema had a point—not about any romantic feelings between her and Tenzin, those had died long ago—but Lin remembered how odd it had been to work alongside Tenzin once again, how they’d found themselves falling into old habits more than once, purely from ancient muscle memory. It was difficult to maintain personal space around someone with whom you had once been so intimate, and Lin could see how Pema might have misinterpreted things. Still, she couldn’t imagine how Kya might have gotten the wrong idea, not after Lin had spilled her guts across a sticky bar table, all but admitting that she’d only chosen Tenzin because he was safe. She stared back at Kya, incredulous. 

“You really thought I wanted _Tenzin?_ Even after everything I told you?” 

Kya looked at her feet, shrugging. 

“I guess I—I hoped you were talking about me that night, but when I got back from the bar you just… changed the subject.” Lin’s heart jumped; she remembered the warmth of Kya’s hand in her own, and her smiling eyes. She squashed down the hope. 

“I thought—but you—you flirted with the barmaid!” Lin exclaimed. “I thought you were trying to… let me down easy, or something. Show me you weren’t interested without having an awkward conversation.” Now that Lin said it out loud, the theory did seem thin—if one of her officers had presented it as evidence, she would have laughed them out of the station—so she probably deserved the bark of laughter Kya let out. 

“I don’t even remember what I talked to the barmaid about, Lin,” she said, when she had recovered, her voice warm and full of that familiar gentle teasing. “But I can tell you with absolute certainty that I wasn’t flirting: I had other things on my mind. You can really watch me have a friendly interaction with another woman and assume I’m trying to get into her pants, but when I turn up at your apartment and actively try to get into yours, you’re apparently completely unaware.” 

Lin could still feel the ghost of Kya’s fingers tracing the lines of her face; the memory made her shiver. 

“I was aware, I just didn’t want to take advantage. You were drunk, and you were gone in the morning like I knew you would be.” Lin couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice, and Kya’s face fell. She gave Lin a hard look before she said, 

“I thought I’d made a complete fool of myself, throwing myself at you like that,” she said, all the warmth gone from her voice. Lin could hardly fault her—was that not what Lin herself had done? After the South Pole she had run and hidden from Kya, hardly able to look at her even after they’d both been so close to death. “And it’s not as though you followed me,” Kya continued. “Perhaps I do run from things, perhaps I am a coward sometimes, but so are you. You could have called, you could have written, you could have done _something_ to make it clear because I—I never knew what you wanted, Lin.” 

Lin knew there was truth to what she’d said—the number of times she’d started a letter, or put her hand on the telephone, desperate to hear Kya’s voice, only to lose her nerve at the last moment—but she couldn’t stop the rising tide of indignation. Just a few moments ago they’d been working things out, untangling the knots of their past, but Lin should have known there were too many wounded feelings and too much anger trapped in those knots to untie them without hurt. 

“ _You_ never knew?” she asked, incredulous. “You’ve been running hot and cold on me for ten years, Kya. You could’ve written, too. But no, instead you turn up at my apartment to make a pass at me, but when I _ask_ you to stay you just—” 

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” Kya cut across her, voice trembling. “I told you why I did, it wasn’t because I wanted to leave you. I never wanted to leave you but—” 

“I know, Kya!” Lin cried. She could feel herself shaking; hope and despair curdling within her. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage, as if she were standing on the cliff’s edge, about to hurl herself into the crashing waves below. There was still a chance, a slim one, that they would welcome her, but Lin knew now she would prefer drowning to this endless suspension, never sure of her fate. She took a deep breath. “I know,” she repeated, softly. 

All the fight went out of her at once, at the same moment she heard Kya sigh. The sound was sad, and the silence that followed it seemed to penetrate the whole island. 

Suddenly, Lin felt laughter bubble up from within her; she shouldn’t laugh, not when Kya looked so unsure, so vulnerable, but the whole situation was ridiculous enough that—for once—Lin couldn’t control herself. Kya was still frowning at her as Lin tried to speak, desperate to reassure Kya that she wasn’t laughing at _her,_ it was simply that—

“Fuck, Kya, we’re both so stupid.” Lin wiped the tears from her eyes as she wheezed out the last of her laughter, and Kya relaxed, a small smile replacing the worry that had been marring her features. 

“Yeah. Yeah I think we are,” Kya said softly. She met Lin’s gaze across the clearing, and then nothing was funny anymore. Kya was still smiling, though, and Lin realised she had been wrong: she wasn’t on a cliff’s edge at all, she was on the beach. Time had worn away at the cliffside until it was sand, and the waves before her lapped softly at her toes. It would be so, so easy to wade into the water, to let it wash away her sadness and her bitterness, to float, and let it hold her in its cool embrace. All she had to do was take a breath and say,

“So, just to clarify: I love you, Kya. I’ve loved you since before I was old enough to recognise it. I’m plenty old now, and I still… I hope it’s not too late for us?” Lin might have been wearing her armour, but she had never felt so bare, waiting for Kya to respond. 

“Come here,” was all Kya said. Lin moved as if through water, steady and certain. The stone bench between them crumbled as Lin approached it, and she stepped through the rubble to where Kya stood. Kya’s free hand cupped Lin’s scarred cheek, and she only had to lean down slightly to press a feather light kiss to Lin’s lips. The contact was fleeting, but it sent electricity coursing through Lin’s body—from her lips to the tips of her toes—and she shivered as Kya drew back. 

“I love you, Lin,” Kya breathed. “I want to be with you.” The tension that Lin hadn’t realised she still carried fell away, and she smiled widely. Kya reached up to brush a strand of Lin’s hair out of her face, and Lin chased the feeling of Kya’s skin against hers. She wanted the solidity of touch to remind her this was real. 

Kya pushed her fingers further into Lin’s hair, and Lin keened, rising up to catch Kya’s lips with her own again. This time, the kiss was all passion. Kya dropped her crutch to wrap her other arm around Lin’s neck, and Lin caught Kya’s waist to hold her up. They were the only two people in the world; they were floating; Lin felt nothing but the hot, soft pressure of Kya’s mouth and the delicious pull where Kya’s hand had fisted in her hair. Lin let out a sharp gasp when Kya nipped at her bottom lip, opening her mouth to let Kya deepen the kiss. It was just as new, just as exciting as it had been the first time, and Lin once again found herself unable to get close enough. She desperately wanted to push her thigh between Kya’s, to feel the other woman’s body pressed all along the length of her own, but she was afraid to jostle Kya’s still-healing injury. Kya’s tongue danced along the roof of her mouth, and Lin was distracted for a long minute in the give and take of their kiss; she tightened her grip around Kya’s waist, slipping a hand under Kya’s loose shirt to find skin, and relishing the little hitch in Kya’s breath. 

Lin broke away to press kisses to Kya’s jawline, to her neck, to the gorgeous, half hidden hollow of her collarbone. She had the absurd, teenage instinct to bite down, to mark Kya as her own, but before she could give into the temptation, Kya pulled her back up to drop fervent, frantic kisses against her lips. 

“Stay,” Kya whispered between kisses. “Stay here tonight, with me.” 

The thrill sparked through Lin as she imagined finally— _finally_ —laying Kya back on that too-hard bed like she’d wanted to so many years ago. She wanted to see Kya’s hair splayed across the pillow, see the laughter in her eyes as she pulled Lin on top of her; she’d dreamed of Kya for so long that to have her now seemed unreal. Lin could barely believe that if she stayed, if she let Kya drag her back towards the house, back into the room where it all began, she would wake up in the morning with sunlight streaming in, and Kya’s warm limbs tangled with her own. She could barely believe it, but it would be her reality all the same. Tomorrow—

“You’re leaving tomorrow.” Lin said, as the recollection jolted unpleasantly through her. It caused a cold knot of dread to form in her stomach, where previously her body had been all aflame. She couldn’t resent Kya for it; for all Katara’s bravado, she no longer had the energy to manage all of Korra’s healing herself. Duty called Kya back to the South Pole, and no-one understood duty better than Lin. 

“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Kya promised, holding Lin’s face gently in her hands. Kya’s hands were shaking slightly, and her expression was so open that Lin couldn’t help but believe her. “Nothing could keep me away, not now I know I’ve got you to come back to. Will you wait for me?” 

“I’d wait another thirty years if I had to, as long as I knew you’d come back to me,” Lin said, vaguely horrified to find that she meant it. Kya broke into a bright, beaming smile; she tried to kiss Lin again, but could manage only sloppy, half-kisses around her grin. Lin accepted them happily, offering light kisses first to Kya’s top lip, then her lower, until Kya was humming into her mouth again. 

When Lin broke away to look at Kya again, the sun had set beneath the sea, and the whole island was bathed in the silver glow of the moon. Kya shone in the moonlight, and Lin was momentarily transfixed. 

“So will you?” Kya asked. Her hair was a little mussed—though Lin knew her own must be far worse—and she was the most beautiful thing Lin had ever seen. 

“Will I what?” Lin said stupidly, and Kya giggled. 

“Stay?” 

Lin leaned in for one more long kiss before she said, 

“Yes.” 


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dock of Republic City harbour was drawing closer by the minute, and Katara could feel her daughter almost vibrating with eagerness beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny wee bit of Katara PoV for y'all, as a treat.

The dock of Republic City harbour was drawing closer by the minute, and Katara could feel her daughter almost vibrating with eagerness beside her. The excitement and joy that Kya exuded was almost enough to offset the pang Katara felt, looking at the now-ragged skyline of the city her family had built. Sokka and Aang were gone now, so it fell to her to help pick up the pieces of the broken city, but she need not do so alone. Though her missives to Toph had thus far gone without response, Katara felt certain she would show up at some point, and Zuko was due to make port in just a few days. 

Katara wasn’t nervous; after all, she had nothing to be nervous about. Bumi had reacted surprisingly well to his mother’s revelation, and while Tenzin had been harder to bring around, he’d eventually accepted Katara and Zuko’s relationship with minimal huffing. Katara suspected Bumi and Kya might have had something to do with that—the shovel talk they’d given to Zuko upon his arrival in the South Pole a few weeks after Jinora’s ceremony had been something to behold. ( _They get that from you,_ Zuko had said, sticking his cold nose against her warm neck. _I haven’t been so terrified since you threatened to kill me at the Western Air Temple._ )

She almost felt sorry for Tenzin, who had only just gotten over The Zuko Thing (as her grandchildren were apparently calling it in hushed tones) when Kya had decided to spring her new relationship on him. If you asked Katara, Tenzin didn’t exactly have the right to an opinion on who Lin dated, but she felt bad for him all the same. He might be an airbender, but Tenzin had never liked change. 

Kya, on the other hand, had fallen easily into domesticity. Though she insisted that Katara needed her help, Kya had only been in the South Pole a couple of months before she boarded a ship back to Republic City. She’d bounced between the two fairly happily, as far as Katara could tell, for three years before Lin had forbidden her return to the city, on the basis that it was no longer safe. Kya had burst into Katara’s hut, brandishing a letter and ranting about Lin’s high handedness, but it hadn’t taken long for Kya’s anger to fade, and concern to take its place. The two of them had waited—counting the days and grasping for any shred of news—for too long before the letters from Lin and Tenzin finally arrived: their loved ones were safe, but the city had not fared so well. 

It had taken less than a day for Kya and Katara to pack up, ready to board the first ship that could take them back to Republic City, and Katara’s heart swelled to see Tenzin and Jinora waiting for them on the harbour, Lin standing—stiff as ever in her uniform—beside them. Kya leaned over the ship’s railing to wave, and Lin shouted something back that Katara’s aging ears couldn’t pick up against the wind from the sea. Kya grinned. 

“See you in a minute, Mom.” 

With the dock only feet away, Kya hopped overboard, letting the water carry her onto the harbour. As soon as her feet touched solid ground, Kya launched herself into Lin’s arms. It was a long time before they pulled apart, and by the time the ship was fully docked, Kya was fussing over an awkward-looking Lin, who was protesting loudly that she _was_ getting enough sleep, though Katara believed her even less than Kya did. The sight warmed Katara’s heart; despite her faith in both of them, there had been times when she had doubted whether Lin and Kya would ever find the right place and the right time to work things out. It had only taken a small amount of string-pulling on her part, in the end, and Katara had felt vindicated when she’d caught a sleepy Kya kissing Lin goodbye in the kitchen on the morning of Jinora’s ceremony.

“Are they always like this?” she asked as she stepped onto the dock, enfolding Tenzin and Jinora in a warm hug. 

“Yes,” Tenzin said, tightly, and Katara smiled. She reached up to pat her son’s face gently, and Jinora failed to hide a giggle at her father’s embarrassment.

Looking once again at the ruins of Republic City, Katara felt none of the despair she’d been expecting. She had learned more than she had expected to in her old age, chiefly that no matter how broken something might be, no matter how beyond hope it might seem, it was never too late to rebuild. It was never too late to create something new. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! I really set out to write a short fic about Lin and Katara, and >20k words later, here we are! All the comments on this series have been so wonderful and supportive (when I really thought this was an incredibly niche project that only I would enjoy) so I hope I did you all proud with this final part.


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